Friday, March 31, 2006
Ahhhh Friday. This is the first Friday that i've actually earned in quite some time. Remember a few weeks back when i quit my job? Well, i've had a couple of weeks of well-earned nothingness, and now have re-joined the workforce..sort of. This week, i did some temping - envelope stuffing and the like. I even got to operate some not-so-heavy machinery in the print office of a large corporation (book binding is not quite as simple as it looks). It was quite entertaining, actually, as the Slipshod Petticoats got hired as a collective. We enjoyed ourselves to the fullest extent possible in an office environment, and it really got me thinking about illicit office romance...not that either of us engaged in such a thing (although we would have, had the co-workers been slightly more desirable). I like thinking about illicit acts in inappropriate places.
Office romance is not terribly creative or original, but as i sat there sticking address labels on envelopes, i started thinking about the possibilities. I'm sure we have all seen the cheesy movie that were fairly prevalent in the 80s that involved sexy secretaries getting it on with their boss after work, photocopying their bottoms and taking down naughty dictation... sigh...the good ol' days. i wonder if there is so little of that kind of thing nowadays because we have all become so very "sensitive" and PC, or are the consequences more dire? I think maybe hot elevator sex might be a good bit of fun, although once again, we are stymied by today's fucking technology. I don't think elevators have "stop" buttons on them that can be pressed without sounding the fire alarm, or some such nonsense. I mean, really, what's a girl to do to get some titillating office-action? And where exactly does the lowly temp fit in to it? There is certainly no possibility of wearing the standard power-suit/mini-skirt combo and striding into work, flashing a bit of leg and having the hot, young assistant scurry into your office for a hot morning fuck before you start your day. Nor do you get to play the sexy, sultry siren of a secretary. Think Loni Anderson on WKRP. She was my idol. What a babe. I went blonde for a few years in my early twenties, but never quite achieved "Loni hotness". Maybe it had something to do with the lack of uber-cleavage blazers and fuck-me pumps. Evidently, my wardrobe needs some work.
So where does all of this leave the temp in the hierarchy of office sexual-adventure? Sadly, nowhere. Although, i did get chatted up by a stammering, stuttering, young office errand-boy. I licked my lips and glanced up at him coyly, as i seductively licked my envelopes. He blushed. I dropped a sheet of address labels on the floor, and bent over to pick them up, flashing him a little taste of my lacy black bra. I then pushed back from the table, and sauntered suggestively across the mailroom floor towards the supply closet, and slipped quietly inside. He followed quickly after, practically panting. Amid the small boxes of paperclips and larger boxes of manilla envelopes, masking tape and spare staplers, I pushed up him against the shelving units and undid his khakis with my red lip-sticked lips. I was about to pull his blue gingham Gap boxers down with my teeth, when the inter-office courier opened the door. Caught in the act! What was I to do, but...."distract" him. Couriers rate higher than errand-boys, after all. And those mailman uniforms are just so hot.
okay, okay, enough. That last sentence was just too ridiculous. C'mon, seriously, you don't think i'd do the errand boy do you? Even temps have standards. Need some office relief? Just send an e-mail to the Slipshod Petticoats. We're here to fulfill all your envelope-licking needs.....
Monday, March 27, 2006
LUST. The SSPs were sitting in our favorite coffee spot yesterday, dealing with unloading an unwanted rental (if you're looking for a sweet pad, we've got one for you), when one of us, averting eyes away from the computer screen for a moment, spied a word painted high on the building across the street. In large, spray-painted block letters, was the word "LUST".
Lust....hmmmm... it really got us thinking...
It almost qualifies as "onomatopoeia" - almost. It sounds like what it is, y'know? Kind of like when you say "fuck" with proper intent. Words that begin with the letter "L" are almost always sexy. I think it has something to do with the way one's tongue goes up behind one's front teeth to properly form the "L". Back to lust.
Lust, it seems, can exist in several different forms.
1.) There is your average, garden-variety lust, that feeling of just needing to get laid - the who and where can be dealt with later.
usage: "I'm feeling rather lusty today." (this usage is interchangable with "horny", but i've always hated that word) I get this particular version of lusty when reading a good, smutty book.
2.) Next, we have specifically directed lust. As in, you are lusting after someone.
usage: "Remember that guy ****** that we met at that party last week? I'm really lusting after him. He turns me on. Waaayyyy on."
3.) Which brings us to the kind of lust that must have inspired the graffiti artist in question to either scale that building, or hang out a window to spray the word "LUST" so very high above Blowers Hill. Full-blown, wanton, nasty, all-consuming need-to-get-laid. I think this is specifically directed as well. Not just anyone can inspire such an overwhelming desire. This isn't the kind of thing that often happens with a seeing-someone-from-across-a-crowded-room (although it did happen to me once - but just once, and thinking about that particualr encounter makes me feel lusty in the same way a smutty book would. It is an immediate reaction to conjuring up the image of that individual in my head). A stranger can inspire a certain element of lust because you find them attractive. However, this kind of lust comes from talking to someone and seeing them interact with others. It comes from you watching them talk and thinking about how their mouth would feel on yours. This need is the direct result of an accidental brushing of hands through the passing fo a drink, or a hand laid in the small of a back to pass by through a crowd of people. It comes from the palpable zing that occasionally exists between people. You hear about "electricity" and "spark" between people and maybe think that it is cosmo-magazine bullshit. Pop-psychologists talk about it, women whisper about it, sex columnists write about it. But, until you actually experience the real "ohmygodijustneedtogetsomewhereandripyourclothesoffrightnowandfuckyouuntilmylegsshake andwecan'tcatchourbreatheandthenwedoitagain" type of situation, you haven't properly experienced LUST.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
...that sounds a little bit dirtier than it should. I think we can now add "slippery" to the list of "words that sound dirty but actually aren't...". The slippery I'm referring to here is actually the nasty, sloppy filth of the end-of-winter in St. John's, NL. I find myself here for a few days for a variety of reasons - nothing worth writing about -and although it is all everyone claims it to be - friendly, picturesque, fun and home of a really great independent record store (Fred's --if you have not been , you really must make an effort -it is located in a beautiful heritage building downtown with much better categorization than those lame-o big corporation stores, their "staff picks" are delightful and they have a whole wall of local music set-up with listening stations that are comprehensive and easy to use for non-techies like yours truly..and have comfy headphones) - the weather is quite simply, rotten. It makes me yearn for steamy, sultry summer nights.
I have always enjoyed the various aspects of Winter that a non-outdoor enthusiast might look forward to in such a season (fireplaces, hot buttered rum, the feeling of someone's hot hands warming up your just-in-from-the-cold skin..and of course, the phenomenon of perkier breasts - they really just are a little more lively in the cold winter months - must be the cold-nipple thing...), but things have gotten out of hand here in NL. Someone needs to tell them that they can give over a bit. How on earth can people have sex el fresco if there is still so much fucking snow??!! I am dreaming of that sultry, earthy, freshly churned dirt smell that only comes in the very earlist part of the spring. Do you know the one i am talking about? It makes me hot. Really. I don't know why.... if i am not alone in this feeling, perhaps it has something to do with primalistic urges of early society - don't most animals get right down to it in the spring? Just imagine rolling and romping in the just-barely-grass on one of those days, those rare early spring days that offer a peek of summer, but cool off when the sun sets. The grass is wet, soggy almost, but the sun is warm on your skin, on your stomach, your thighs.. and the mud, that earthy, fresh early mud is cool on your back, and if properly positioned, you sort of slide around... OH god! i just love the spring.
But, as it has yet to arrive, and as I prepare myself for those kind of days, let's talk about hot music. Not obvious hot music. Sidebar story:
i once made a cd for a guy that i had only been seeing for a few weeks. it was for his birthday, and we were in that early stage of hot Hot HOT sex, steamy baths in my attic apartment's deep clawfoot tub, smoking lots of pot and then having more hot, pot-induced dreamy sex before passing out, or else watching weird, late-night CBC (do they realize that they have soft-core porn mixed in with their pseudo high-brow programming?)on my 25 year old mustard yellow, coat-hanger attenaed tv set. so, i made him a cd of intentional "hot" songs - songs that had the word "sex" in them, songs that talked about getting down on your knees to taste a red-headed woman (the song is a little-known Bruce Springsteen gem, and the redhead? I'll let you guess - i'm sure you can figure it out..), etc. Shit, that was a good mixed cd. A real labor of love. Not that i loved him, but he was delightful in bed. He was a bit younger than me, so it was kind of like a rolling around on the floor with a sackful of puppies - fun, cute, exhausting. He, however, seemed to find this distressing - a mixed cd... how very threatening. He seemed to think that time put into a gift= relationship expectations ..or something like that. When really, all i wanted was to fuck to good music.
So, hot, sexy music. Nothing obvious. Of course we all have had sex to "let's get it on" - thank-you Marvin, I owe you for more than one orgasm, but now i am older and wiser and more appreciative of the less obvious. have you ever tried putting on zeppelin's "kashmir"? There is something about the driving rhythm that i have found quite effective in the past. What about the movie "10" - that old Blake Edwards flick with the filthy little Dudley Moore and the hotter than hell Bo Derek? You know the one with the cover of her running down a beach in her cornrows, seemingly naked but actually wearing a flesh-toned bathing suit (okay, as of this moment, the word "flesh" is being eradicated from my vocabulary - ew. i hate it)? There is this scene in it when the aging Dudley gets sick of being used as a sexual diversion for this young trollop (cornrowed Bo) while on her honeymoon (with someone else - you don't think they'd actually have her marry Dudley do you? Although, i can't remember why exactly she was fooling around with him - just that he fantisized about her while laying near the pool). Anyway, there is this line in it where he says "There's got to be more to life than making love while listening to Ravel's Bolero."
That stuck with me for a long time. I was quite young when i saw it - it may have been one of the first somewhat steamy movies i've seen, actually. So, as soon as i was out of the 'rents house and free to plan my sexual escapades with more concerns than parking in a secluded area, i bought Ravel's Bolero. It is not for everyone, but i'd cetainly break it out again. It's been long enough now that i don't associate it with anyone in particular (in fact, i can't even remember who was a part of that sexual/musical experiment. I think i need to find a new subject and re-write my findings). If you are not familiar with Bolero, perhaps you may have listened to it with out knowing; Rufus Wainwright samples it on the first song of his latest album.
hmmm...the Rufus reference just led me right into another thought (here is the progression - considering screwing to the sounds of Rufus and then deciding that his voice - beautiful as it is - might be distracting, then thinking about other unusual voices that i like to listen, which led me to Leonard Cohen, which led me to this next song): Suzanne. Once again on the topic of custom mixed music, the first time i heard "Suzanne" i was about 16, lying on a hot beach, listening to a mixed tape that had been made for me by a friend (or maybe we were dating?) - point being, it floored me. I found it so evocative in so many ways. I don' t know if it is the actual song, or what i pictured while listening to the lyrics, or just the association i have with it. When i hear it, i can actually smell that sultry, summer smell of coconut sunblock, ocean air, and that yummy skin smell - you know the one, when you have been out in the sun by the ocean all day and have that slightly salty/sweet smell emanating from you. The most incredible scent in my universe. Hmmmmm (that was the sound of longing...). So there it is for now. Another list to be compiled. I'm open to suggestions and will be taking this up with other informal contributors over the weekend.
Friday, March 10, 2006
hmmmm....what to say on this day? Today was my last day of work and i don't think it has quite sunk in. I quit my job...I QUIT MY JOB! I really, really did. I guess i'm kind of unemployed right now, but i feel a strange sense of liberation. In fact, i relish my new lack of responsibility. I have almost nothing to do. Except of course, to figure out what i will do with all my free time. I think the slipshod petticoats are going to start doing some art installments. Something racy, something exciting, something utterly and deliciously bad. There are certainly many wonderful venues for lingerie-flashing photo-ops. What about in churches? That would indeed make a nice justaposition and presentation of innocent yet inappropriate images. Or is it too "done"? Too oh-so-typical and cliched virgin/whore? Maybe we should try something more along the lines words painted on bodies, flashed in public places and then put together to make silly sentences, or bad poetry? Should it rhyme do you think? The poetry, i mean? And what should the first topic be? I need a theme of some kind. I'm open to suggestions.... i think i need the other petticoat to get in on this fledgling project.
Friday, March 03, 2006
It looks like a crunchy morning out there. I'm talking about the snow texture as a result of the temperature. Isn't that a great word to describe the weather? Crunchy. Many things are much better described with seemeingly inappropriate adjectives. A few days ago, i told my roommate as I came back in through the door after retrieving my travel mug from the car, that it was a "wooly" morning outside. She laughed, but i don't think she knew what i meant. Do you know what i mean? The air felt wooly on my tongue when i breathed. Now? I'm sure you understand now. Think about being little and trying to get a wet mitten off your hand with your teeth so that you can pull your sock up inside your boot. Okay? Good. Like i said at the beginning - it is crunchy out there, so perhaps i should put on some appropriate underclothing. Yesterday, i actually wore underwear! Can you believe it? I can't - it felt really weird and confining. But I have been having problems as of late with cold bum-cheeks. Perhaps it is a result of my poorly functioning circulatory system, as i often have cold hands and feet as well. Hands and feet are easily warmed, but rubbing one's bum cheeks (no matter how delightful a picture it may create for some) is just not acceptable public behaviour in one's place of work. Today's underclothes have a little embroidered message (kind of like the one in the first full-length bloggery picture). They say "what's your sign?". Maybe i should flash them at my boss (the one from the icky, dirty -in-a-not-nice-way dream from previous bloggery) and see what he thinks. "Now why on earth would she do that?" you may be thinking to yourself. The response is quite simple: I quit. That's right. Yesterday, I handed in my official letter of resignation. Two weeks notice. Every inch of my body, from my pounding temples, over-used vocal cords, fake-smile facial muscles, aching back, and over-worked feet are thanking me for this decision. My mental health has already improved greatly. I love it. The question now is: How should i celebrate this weekend?
Off to work i go, wearing message-bearing undies and singing a song in my heart!